CHAPTER 8
VIOLET
Nine a.m. on Thursday, and I glanced toward the refrigerator. Was it too early for wine? Because right now, I sure needed a bottle. No, a glass. Just a glass. I absolutely wasn’t an alcoholic.
David had decided we’d do today’s script reveal in the kitchen at the beach house. Casual. Relaxed. The five of us sitting around like old friends as we nibbled on low-fat croissants and slivers of fresh fruit. At least, Kane and Lucas would be nibbling. Mikki had announced yesterday she was on a new diet where she only drank water until noon, and my churning stomach had made its feelings clear. I’d puked in front of my housemates once, and I didn’t want a repeat, thank you very much.
The camera operators set up their equipment, four of them, one to capture each of our reactions
